Chapter 30 #2
I kissed him again, deeper this time. My body wanted to devour him. My heart wanted to protect him. So I let both wants braid together into slow heat, gentle pressure, and deliberate caresses that lingered long enough to feel like claims but soft enough to make sure he never had to brace for pain.
His breath hitched as my hand slid beneath his shirt, fingers skating across familiar skin I’d ached to touch. He leaned into me, head tipping back just enough to let out a low exhale of surrender.
“Adrian.” My whispered name on his lips—threaded with need, reverence, longing—nearly buckled my restraint.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured against his throat. “Every second. Every inch you’ll let me have.”
Eli shivered.
I moved slowly, giving him control of pace, depth, and closeness. Letting him guide me with small touches, soft sounds, the way he arched into my hands. Every movement held intention. It wasn’t just desire; it was devotion, apology, and relief.
He pulled me down, kissing me with a hunger that surprised even him. I felt the moment he stopped being careful, the moment he stopped thinking about injury and hospitals and brokenness, and just wanted.
We stayed like that for a long time, moving together, breathing each other in, rediscovering a rhythm we thought we’d lost. Heat curled low and sweet between us, drawn out and deepened by patience, by love pressed into every touch.
I’d never been so hard in my life. So desperate to claim, or reclaim, something I’d thought was lost.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing careless.
Just two men remembering how to reach each other in the dark. How to speak without words, and how to listen.
Eli buried his face against my throat, shaking from more than exertion, and I held him tighter, whispering the only truth I had left—his name.
“More,” he breathed into my skin.
Something inside me stuttered. Want, but also the fierce, aching relief of hearing him ask for me instead of pushing me away.
I shifted, drawing him closer, my hands exploring the edges of what he offered. His breath stilted, his body moving with mine in a way that felt like longing rediscovered. He clung to me, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me in, guiding me with a desperation that wasn’t rough but raw.
I slid my hand into his waistband and wrapped my fingers around his hot, hard length. He gasped, and I molded my lips around his taut nipple, sucking until his fingers tightened in my hair. Eli bucked against me, and I gripped him tighter, sucked harder, until I drew my name from his lips.
“Adrian,” he hissed, pulling me closer still.
God, the sound of my name on his lips, so hungry. I kissed him hard, deep, until we were both gasping. His body arched into mine, seeking friction, connection, anything that made him feel alive and wanted and here.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmured against his mouth.
“You,” he whispered, breath shaking against my skin. “Just… you.”
I gave him all of me, offering pressure where he guided, gentleness where he buckled, intimacy threaded through every touch.
The room blurred into warmth and breath and the soft, broken sounds we pulled from each other.
His hands roamed, clutching at my back, my shoulders, pulling my shirt over my head, grounding himself in every place he could reach.
Eli unraveled against me, not with pain but with relief, as if letting me hold him like this was its own act of healing.
He bucked into my fist when I stroked him faster. His precum gathered between my fingers, making the glide easier. His skin was hot velvet, pulsing in my hand with each pass.
“Do you need my mouth?” I asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to assume wrongly and blow my chances.
“God, yes,” Eli hissed.
Tugging his pants down his thighs, I sucked the head of his swollen cock between my lips and licked around his tip.
He gasped and pushed further into my mouth, spearing my throat.
My eyes watered as Eli pushed deeper, and I felt his whole body shudder when my throat convulsed around him.
He grabbed my hair—hard enough to sting—and for a second I let him, let the rush of it take him wherever he needed to go.
But then I heard the edge in his breathing, that frantic, brittle sound I knew too well.
I didn’t want frantic. Not from him. Not tonight. I’d help him get there. We had all night.
I slid my hand over his, easing the pressure, guiding his grip to something gentler.
“Hey,” I rasped when I pulled back enough to breathe. My voice came out raw, wrecked already. “Look at me.”
Eli’s eyes snapped down, wild, unsure, and beautiful. I kissed the inside of his thigh, slow sucking kisses that left a trail of saliva, just to give him a second to breathe.
“Let me take my time,” I murmured against his skin.
I felt him loosen, just barely, and that was enough.
I wrapped my arms around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer, and pressed soft, lingering kisses along the base of his cock, up the length, heat pooling low in me at the way he shook. Every little reaction he gave went straight to my balls.
“You always think I want it rough.” I brushed my lips over him, letting him feel the words. “Sometimes I just want you to let me take care of you. Worship you.”
His breath hitched, sharp, surprised, and I felt his fingers thread into my hair again, this time tentative, asking permission instead of taking it.
I sank my mouth over him slowly, letting him feel every inch of my intent. Not rushing. Not performance. Just want.
He broke on a sound I don’t think he meant to make. And God, the way that sound went through me.
“Yeah,” I whispered when I pulled back, stroking him with my hand. “Let it feel good. Let me make it good.”
Eli’s head fell back, his body curving toward me as if gravity had finally remembered who he belonged to. I held his hips steady, my movements unhurried, savoring him, relearning him, giving him everything he wouldn’t ask for.
He looked down at me again—eyes blown, cheeks flushed, all of him trembling—and the sight hit me so hard I nearly forgot to breathe.
“I need you,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said, mouth brushing him again. “I need you too.”
And then I took him back into my throat—slow, deep—because giving him this wasn’t submission. It was devotion.
My lips made pass after pass, sucking, slurping, drooling saliva down his shaft, down his balls. I savored every drop of flavor that coated my tongue. My hand and mouth worked in sync to bring him to the edge.
And when he came apart, body shuddering and legs going stiff, I held him through every tremor, whispering his name, his worth, everything I’d been too scared to say out loud. I stayed close, breathing against his hip, letting him feel that I wasn’t going anywhere.
He sagged back against the pillows, chest heaving. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was his unsteady breathing and the distant hum of the bathroom fan he’d forgotten to turn off.
I dropped soft kisses to his stomach, letting the touch ground him. “Easy,” I murmured, my hand smoothing along the line of his ribs. “You’re okay.”
He let out a shaky breath—almost a laugh, almost a sob. “I’m… sorry.”
That snapped my head up. “Eli. No. For what?”
His eyes flicked away. “I didn’t know how to ask. I just—” He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked. “I needed something, and I didn’t know how to tell you without sounding pathetic.”
My chest burned. I crawled up the length of his body until I could bracket his face with my hands. He kept looking anywhere but at me.
“Hey.” I pressed my forehead to his. “You don’t owe me perfect communication. I’ve been watching you walk around the house like a storm cloud with bad posture. I knew something was wrong.”
His lips twitched. “Bad posture?”
“You heard me.”
A breath of a laugh escaped him, and that was the first real sign he was coming back to himself.
I settled beside him, pulling him into my chest. He came willingly—no tension, no pride—just tired limbs and quiet need. His hair brushed my throat, warm and damp, and he exhaled with relief against my skin.
“I hate feeling useless,” he said, voice muffled. “I hate needing anything. I hate that you have to… take care of me like this.”
He hated feeling vulnerable toward me because he didn’t fully trust me yet.
“That wasn’t taking care of you,” I said gently. “That was making love to you.”
His breath stuttered, and I felt the tremor ripple through him.
I drew slow circles between his shoulder blades, feeling him soften under my touch. “You’re allowed to want things, Eli. You’re allowed to need things. Especially from me.”
He shifted, pressing closer, as if he wanted to fit himself inside my skin. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not.”
“You sure?”
I tipped his chin up and kissed him, soft, warm, a counterweight to every fear he didn’t know how to name. He let out a tiny, wounded sound against my mouth that made me hold him tighter.
“I’m sure,” I whispered. “I want you. All of you. The quiet parts, the restless parts, the parts that snap at me when you’re overwhelmed. I’m not here out of conscience, or duty, or pity.”
He blinked up at me, eyes glossy.
“I’m here,” I said, brushing my thumb along his jaw, “because there’s no place I’d rather be. I’m here because I can’t live without you.”
Eli swallowed, his throat working. “I thought… after dinner with my parents… maybe you were pulling away.”
God, that hit so hard I had to close my eyes.
“I wasn’t pulling away,” I said. “I was scared of pushing you too hard. I didn’t want to trigger another argument.”
He inhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to my chest. “I need you to stay.”
His plea crawled under my skin and rubbed me raw.
“I’m here,” I said again, kissing the top of his head. “I’m staying.”
Eli curled around me, finally still. Finally warm. I eased the blankets over us, ran my hand through his hair, and kept him tucked against my heartbeat.
After a minute, his voice drifted up, sounding quiet and fragile and honest.
“Adrian… will you hold me till I fall asleep?”
Fuck… every night until I’m old and dead. I kissed his temple and tightened my arms around him.
“Always.”